


mind my wicked words (and tipsy topsy slurs)

by kate_button



Series: take a slice [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_button/pseuds/kate_button
Summary: Everything spins. Steve’s got no fucking clue how much of that is Billy and how much of it is tequila. He’s drunk as shit. He wants their clothes to disappear. Wants to go to sleep, right here, just like this, Billy all wrapped around him.





	mind my wicked words (and tipsy topsy slurs)

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are again for gross college boys volume three: have we reached peak dumbass? who's to say

Billy Hargrove is a real dick. Steve knew it, knows it, lives it constantly. Sees it and hears it and feels it like, one hundred percent of the time. Billy’s got a special kind of shitty that he reserves just for Steve, it seems like, a kind with confusing too-soft looks and addictive little grins and touches that assume too much, blow Steve’s goddamn mind, make him ache.

Steve’s not, like, an idiot. He’s not actually stupid. He… he knows Billy wants to fuck him. He’s pretty sure. It’s not like. It’s not really a secret, anyway. 

The emojis are particularly un-fucking-subtle. The fact that Billy’s constantly got his hand on his dick while he’s looking at Steve, too. 

And man, it’s easy to get caught up in it. Billy’s a goddamn firestorm, a tornado, fucking insurmountable. Steve doesn’t stand a fraction of a chance and he knows it. 

He’s gonna fuck Billy. It’s just a matter of when, and how, and how much it’s gonna fucking hurt when it’s over. 

Cause he’s got, like. _ Feelings_. Like, stupid, affectionate, big dumb crazy fucked up _feelings_.

Billy’s gonna break his heart, and Steve’s gonna let him. Not gonna be able to stop it. 

He tries, you know? Tries to like, make good choices or whatever. Pours every fucking ounce of self-control in his body into climbing off Billy instead of licking into his mouth and grinding his hips down and getting his hands everywhere, weed and Billy’s breath making him stupid, making him reckless, making him think it’s a decent idea, actually, to give in. The best, maybe. He lets Billy draw him into this shit, goad him on, pull him down down down until he’s _ in it _ because it feels _ good _, feels fucking great seeing the look on Billy’s face when Steve finally caves like they both know he wanted to from the beginning. He gets caught up in it. It’s easy like that, with Billy.

They know a lot of shit that they don’t say, the two of them. Play this game without ever acknowledging that that’s what’s happening. And Steve tries, he really does. Tries to keep his goddamn wits about him. Tries to remember why this is a bad idea.

Then he does some stupid, stupid shit, and everything fucking changes. 

He just gets caught up is all. Just gets caught up. Billy’s been flooding his instagram with eggplants and he can’t stop feeling Billy’s fingertips dipping under his waistband and Billy’s been like, _ teasing _ him, like really fucking making him crazy, being lewd and shitty and handsy and very very unsubtle about the fact that he wants to dick Steve down like, pretty goddamn thoroughly, you know? This isn’t the two of them playing some fucked up gay chicken, watching each other jerk off. This is Billy looking at Steve with his hand on his dick. Regularly. While Steve reads or whatever.

It’s fucking distracting. It’s _ maddening_.

It’s not like he really plans to jerk off on Billy’s bed. He just kinda. Does it. And it’s not like he plans for Billy to catch him at it. It just happens that way.

Maddening. Billy just has him a little crazy.

And then Billy climbs on the bed and touches him and Steve knows, knows with absolute fucking certainty that he is done for. Toast. Game the fuck over. 

Because Billy doesn’t just touch him. Billy like. Fucks him. Gets in Steve’s head and makes promises with his fingertips and takes him apart piece by piece and doesn’t give him quite enough, gives him way too much to cope with.

It’s the hottest thing Steve has ever, ever experienced, the most intimate, the rawest and realest and _ most _, and after Billy smiles at him and slips out to the showers, Steve curls in on himself, buries his face in Billy’s pillow, and shakes apart.

He wants to stay in Billy’s bed until Billy comes back and finds him there, wants to make him see, wants to touch Billy and make him come and see his face when he does it, just like Billy did to him. 

He doesn’t, though. Turns off the lights and curls up in his own bed and faces the wall and lays there and waits for Billy to come back. Needs to feel Billy’s heat around him like a physical ache, like a hook behind his belly button, under his ribs, pulling at him.

He’s very fucked. He touches his lips, gentle, feels the place where Billy was but carefully, like maybe it’s breakable. Like he doesn’t want to ruin it. He tries to remember every single touch, every single look, gets stuck on the flayed-open feeling of Billy looking in his eyes. On the mind-numbingly overwhelming experience of Billy’s tongue in his mouth for real, for the first time, like _ that_.

He’s not sure why Billy walked away. He wonders if Billy knows, now. If he saw. If it was as plain to Billy there as Steve feels like it must have been.

He’s dozing when Billy comes back, sleepy-stupid when the door creaks open and shuts again quietly. He doesn’t move as Billy’s soft footsteps bring him to the edge of his bed, doesn’t open his eyes, but his skin prickles a little with the proximity.

Then Billy’s hand is on his shoulder, touch light like he doesn’t want to wake him. It makes his heart race. Builds up a thick lump in his throat. Then Billy’s hand slides up, higher, brushes back the hair that’s fallen into his face. 

Then he’s gone. Steve hears him slide into his bed, hears him shifting around, hears him take a deep, muffled breath and imagines he’s got his face in his pillow, smelling Steve’s sweat and shampoo. It makes his dick stir a little, that and the spicy exhilaration of Billy’s hand on him again, residual energy of those light touches. He’s wide awake again, keyed up, kind of, confused and aching.

A few minutes later, Billy starts snoring softly. It takes Steve a long time to fall asleep.

They go on like nothing happened, mostly. Nothing’s different except that Billy looks at him real considering sometimes, scritch-scratch of his pen pausing until Steve glances up and catches him looking, brow furrowed, pretty mouth turned down in a little frown and he doesn’t look away when Steve looks at him, heart beating harder about it, just looks, lets his eyes drag down Steve’s body on their way back down to his homework.

He shares his joints, though. Drives over to the little Thai place around the corner and brings Steve back his three star pad thai and his chicken satay without bothering to ask what he wants cause he already knows. Flirts in that over the top way he’s always done, all batted eyelashes and slick lines, got a comeback for everything out of Steve’s mouth, works to make him blush, get him flustered, licks his lips and grins about it, face all lit up with delight.

Steve loves to see it. Likes the way it feels. God help him. 

Billy drags him to a party on the one week anniversary of That One Time, and Steve doesn’t exactly want to be there but Billy feeds him good liquor and hisses at anyone who gets too close and curls himself around him more and more as they get warmer and buzzier and Steve loosens up, goes with it, leans in, lets him because he always does, doesn’t know how not to. Doesn’t really want to say no, ever. Ends up on the couch on the front porch with a solo cup in one hand and a smoke in the other and Billy in his lap, heavy and solid and warm on top of him. He gets his hands up under Steve’s tshirt, fingers splayed over his sides while he rocks in a little closer. Steve takes a drag of his smoke, sets the cup on the table next to them cause he doesn’t really need it, kinda wants to get his arm around Billy, kinda can’t give a shit like this. 

‘Gimme,’ Billy says, leans in a little, and Steve holds the cigarette up, lets Billy drag it, lips pressing against the pads of his fingers. 

The whole thing’s got him pretty warm. Billy grins down at him, then breathes the smoke out out over his head, looks at him again all soft and happy, takes his hands out of his shirt to get them on his shoulders, his neck, up into his hair. 

Steve’s gonna get hard about it. Billy’s big hands are kinda holding him, bracketing his face, thumbs along his jaw, fingers back in his hair, tipping his face up and Steve lets him like he always does, breath coming a little quicker. Billy looks so fucking good like this, happy and easy and himself, leans down and bumps Steve’s nose with his own, rolls his hips just a little. 

Steve’s breath catches. 

Billy pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, half considering, half _ heat_. Reminds Steve of that night. ‘_Baby_,’ Billy whispers, and Steve clutches at his thigh, dick filling in a little more. 

The endearments get him. Billy knows that, has really laid it on thick recently. 

He flicks the mostly-dead butt of his cigarette out over the railing and into the grass, gets his hand on Billy’s hip. Pulls him a little closer. Billy shifts in until they’re flush together, pressed tight with just their jeans in the way. Steve can feel his breath on his lips, smell the tequila on it. 

‘Queers,’ someone says, some fucking meathead, kind of piece of shit Billy used to pick fights with back in high school when he wasn’t picking them with Steve. 

Billy’s eyebrows quirk up, eyes going a little mischievous, a little dangerous, and he slides one hand down a little, wraps it gentle around Steve’s neck, thumb making little circles in the hollow at the base of his throat, pushes the other one back into his hair. 

He knows what Billy wants. Assholes like that don’t scare Billy. Don’t scare Steve either. 

He gets a fistful of Billy’s shirt with one hand, gives the meathead the finger with the other. Pulls Billy in. 

It’s only the second time, and it’s as fucking mindblowing as the first. Billy moans into his mouth, rolls his hips, fist so tight in his hair that it stings a little, makes Steve hard in his jeans. Billy pushes it deeper immediately like he just can’t help it, like he’s been _ needing _ it, like he’s been thinking about it and isn’t about to miss his chance, gonna have all of it, as much as he can.

Maybe Steve’s projecting. 

He forgets about giving the meathead the bird in favor of getting his hand on Billy’s ass, pulling him close, grinding up into him. Billy twists his head away, breaks the kiss and pants a little while Steve gets his mouth on Billy’s neck, just under his ear. 

_ 'Steve _,' Billy says, sounding like Steve's never heard him sound before, rough and a little needy, sounds as fucked up at Steve feels.

Steve sucks a mark into the side of Billy's neck, makes Billy groan, makes his fingers flex on his throat. It's good. It's too good. Steve doesn't remember why exactly he ever thought it wasn't. He’s got too much alcohol in him and too much Billy on him to remember why he ever thought this was anything other than the best fucking idea he’s ever had, ever, at all.

Then Billy's hand tightens in his throat, pushes him back.

It makes his stomach flip over happily. Makes his dick ache. Billy looks at him, bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes linger at Steve’s lips, dip down to his hand around Steve’s throat. Steve swallows under his palm, pulse hammering under his fingers.

‘You’re drunk,’ Billy says, like it matters. He slides his hand down from Steve’s neck to his chest, presses against his collarbones. 

‘So are you.’

‘Yeah, but-’ Billy shakes his head, grabs Steve’s forgotten drink off the table next to him, tosses it back. He slides mostly off Steve’s lap, sprawls out next to him, one leg still thrown over him. He looks around, eyebrows all knitted up. There are two girls on the other end of the porch, huddled together, faces lit up white-blue by the light of a phone screen. ‘Wasn’t there a dickhead here a second ago we were trying to piss off?’

Steve’s suddenly forlorn about his empty solo cup. ‘Don’t think we needed to try, to be honest.’

Billy laughs, pushes at his cheek with the tips of two fingers. ‘You’re a little troublemaker.’

Steve catches his wrist. ‘Me? _ I’m _ the troublemaker? I’m like, pretty fuckin’ drunk but I’m pretty sure you bein’ all over me was what got him going in the first place.’

Billy’s grin gets big and shitty and gets Steve right in the goddamn gut. ‘Got you goin’ too.’

And he’s for sure not wrong. Like. There’s really not even any point in denying it, as far as Steve can tell. The evidence of it is still pretty fucking obvious, pressed against the zipper of his jeans. They’ve been Not Talking About the thing that happened almost one week to the minute ago, but it’s like. It’s there. The implications are pretty fucking obvious, from Steve’s perspective. ‘What did you think was gonna happen? You-’ he blushes, and Billy twists his wrist out of Steve’s hand, gets his fingers on Steve’s chin, uses them to tip his face so Billy can see it better in the light coming out the windows. 

‘I what?’

‘You fuckin’ know, dickhead. You were there.’

Billy’s grin gets a little softer, eyes crinkled up at the edges. His thumb kinda skims over Steve’s bottom lip. Steve can’t hear the party, isn’t aware of anything but Billy’s hand on him and the way it makes his heart beat faster.

Then, just like that, Billy’s grin turns shitty again and he smacks Steve in the chest with the back of his hand. ‘Go get us another drink, princess. I’m thirsty.’

And that’s not what he wants to do, really, isn’t read for this moment to be over. ‘Billy-’

‘Listen, baby, we both know you’re gonna do it, might as well skip the part where you kick up a fuss about it and get on with it.’

It’s fucking obnoxious. Steve’s irritated about it. He shoves himself up off the couch, kicks Billy’s foot once he’s vertical. Makes Billy laugh. ‘You’re a fucking asshole.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Billy says, waving a hand, ‘you know I love it when you sweet talk me, baby, but I really do need that drink now. Chop chop.’

Steve shotguns a beer with a kid from his Bio class while he’s inside less because he wants to shotgun a beer and more because he wants to make Billy wait. Then he wanders into the kitchen, finds a bottle of tequila with no clear owner on the counter and decides to adopt it. Takes a swig. Grabs Billy a beer out of the fridge. 

Billy’s got his eyes closed and his head tipped back on the back of the couch when Steve comes back. He looks fucking hot. Like. Beautiful. His curls are falling over his shoulders and Steve can’t really _ see _ the freckles on his cheeks in the dark but he knows they’re there, knows the way his eyelashes look when his eyes are closed like this. He gets lost for a minute, looking. Can’t fucking move. Can’t tear his eyes away. Billy’s chest rises and falls evenly, and Steve can see the vein that runs up his forearm where his arm is stretched across the back of the couch, see the way his fingers are curled a little, relaxed. Feels the ghost of them on his thighs and sways a little when the gut-clenching intensity of the thought makes his knees want to buckle.

‘You gonna fuckin’ stand there and stare all night or are you gonna bring me my drink, bitch?’

Billy’s voice sounds gravelly and low and Steve feels the goddamn heat of it in his bones.

He makes his way over. Climbs onto Billy’s lap. Billy cracks his eyes open, smiles up at him like he knows something. Whatever. It’s not like it’s a secret.

‘Whatcha doin’, baby?’

‘Bringing you your drink,’ Steve says, holds the bottle up between them. Billy doesn’t move to grab it. Doesn’t move to do anything. Just sits there, arm across the back of the couch, head tipped back, looking at Steve. Utterly relaxed.

Then he opens his mouth. Steve’s heart kicks in his chest. 

‘I brought tequila too.’

Billy licks his lips. ‘You choose.’

Steve uncaps the tequila. Billy smiles. Tips his head back a little more, closes his eyes. Parts his lips. 

Steve takes a quick swig, then puts the bottle to Billy’s mouth and tips until Billy’s drinking. It’s a rush. A confusing sort of power. He’s aware that he’s kind of… _ serving _ Billy, and doing it because Billy told him to, but Billy’s also making Steve do it on his own terms. Making himself a little vulnerable to it. Making Steve set the terms. He could keep Billy drinking until the bottle was empty or make Billy turn his head to stop it, if he wanted to. Steve decides how much Billy drinks, because Billy wants him to. 

He only stops pouring because he needs another slug of it to steady his hands. Billy sucks in a heaving breath, fingers pressing into the cushioned back of the couch.

‘You feed me too much more of that and you’re gonna have to carry me home, babe,’ Billy says, words bleeding into each other just a little. 

Steve puts the bottle back against his bottom lip. ‘You’ll be fine.’

He wants that feeling back. He tips the bottle, real easy, gives Billy plenty of time to get ready for it.

‘Fuck,’ Billy murmurs just before the alcohol makes it to his mouth. Then he drinks. Steve pours real slowly, just a trickle, and Billy swallows and swallows and swallows, just takes it. The hand that’s not clutching at the back of the couch settles on Steve’s thigh and holds tight. 

Steve’s dick is like. _ Stupid _ hard about it. About Billy like this. Pliant and receptive and trusting and so fucking beautiful Steve could cry. He tips the bottle a little more, fills Billy’s mouth, makes him make a little noise as he swallows, tries to keep up.

Then Steve stops. He doesn’t want to actually make Billy sick. He’s pretty sure Billy would keep going if Steve wanted him to, and that’s a fucking rush like Steve’s never felt. Steve takes another big swig, and then another. Figures that probably puts them about even. 

Billy’s hand creeps up his thigh a little, and when Steve opens his eyes and looks back down, Billy’s looking at him. Licking his lips. 

‘Christ,’ Billy says, and Steve agrees. He wants to get his tongue back in Billy’s mouth. Lick that tequila taste out of it. 

‘Yeah.’ Steve feels shaky. Really fucking turned on. _ Really _ goddamn drunk.

‘You-’ Billy starts, cuts himself off, bites his lip and shakes his head.

‘What?’ 

Steve puts the bottle of tequila on the table, gets his hands on Billy’s waist. Needs to feel the solid heat of him under his palms. The rhythm of his breathing. 

This isn’t flirting. This isn’t, like, a game they’re playing. Billy looks like want, open and crushing and if nothing else, if _ nothing _ else, this Billy, liquored up and easy, wants all the shit Steve wants. This Billy isn’t trying to rile Steve - this Billy let Steve rile him. Steve slips his hands up under Billy’s shirt, wants the heat of his skin under them. Billy’s breath catches, and Steve _ feels _ it.

‘What are you doing?’ Billy breathes.

‘Touchin’ you.’

‘Why?’

Steve thinks it’s a stupid fucking question. Usually Billy doesn’t ask stupid questions. ‘Cause I want to, dumbshit. How fuckin’ drunk are you?’

A weird little laugh bubbles up outta Billy’s chest, and Steve has the absurd thought that he’d like to eat it out of his mouth. 

Drunk. Cool.

‘Bout as drunk as you gotta be, I figure. You’re a fuckin’ slut when you’re loaded.’

‘You knew that already,’ Steve says, ‘also you started it.’

Billy slides the hand that was on the back of the couch up Steve’s arm, wraps it around the back of his neck. ‘We’re not gonna fuck tonight.’

‘Yeah, yeah, ‘m not stupid.’

‘You for sure are.’

‘An’ what about you? Only difference between us is I _ know _ I’m a dumbass. You think you’re not.’

‘I‘m not.’

Steve rolls his eyes. ‘You still think I don’t wanna, don’t you?’

‘You _ don’t_,’ Billy says, ‘or you fuckin’ woulda.’

Steve shakes his head, and it makes his stomach churn a little. He clutches at Billy’s sides to try to make the spinning-swirling chill out. ‘_Stupid_,’ Steve says, chiding. ‘Wanna. Don’t wanna…’

Steve swallows, shakes his head gentler this time. Closes his eyes. Everything spins. 

‘What? Don’ wanna what?’

His body feels heavy and his mind feels fuzzy and Billy’s gotta know, anyway. They’re so stupid. It’s all so stupid. 

Steve opens his eyes, smiles at Billy. He fucking loves this boy, he’s pretty sure. ‘You,’ he says, wobbles a little getting his hand out of Billy’s shirt so he can tap Billy’s nose with his index finger, ‘are gonna fucking break my heart. An’ I’m _ for sure _ gonna let you. Prolly fuckin’ help ya with it, if you tell me to.’

Billy sucks in a breath, looks a little like Steve slapped him, eyes all wide and shocked and like, pretty. He’s pretty. Steve puts his hand on the side of his neck. ‘You. You’re drunk,’ Billy says, like he’s trying to find a reason other than the real one why Steve would be saying shit like that.

Steve nods. ‘Fuckin’ _ shitfaced_. Not lyin’, though.’

‘Steve, baby, you. You gotta fuckin’,’ Billy takes a shaky breath, wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and kinda presses his face to his chest, ‘don’ say this shit when you’re too fuckin’ shitty to remember it in the mornin’, I need… not gonna fuck you drunk, you fuckin’ _ asshole_. You know I-’ Billy cuts himself off, and Steve wants to know what he was gonna say. He puts his hand on Billy’s cheek and looks at him too intently, maybe, tries to pull whatever Billy’s thinking out of his brain through his pretty eyes and into his own. _ Understand_.

‘You what?’

Billy takes a ragged breath, tucks his face into Steve’s neck this time. ‘_Want _ you.’

Everything spins. Steve’s got no fucking clue how much of that is Billy and how much of it is tequila. He’s drunk as shit. He wants their clothes to disappear. Wants to go to sleep, right here, just like this, Billy all wrapped around him. Wants to kiss the hell out of him. Wants it so much he’s dizzy with it, so much his stomach seems to think gravity is like, optional, floating around in sickening swirls.

‘You can. Can have me. I’d let you.’

Billy makes a little noise into his neck, presses his lips to Steve’s skin. ‘Can we… we should go home. Can we go home?’

Billy’s smart as hell. Steve nods. ‘Yeah, good. Okay.’

Billy’s breath is hot and damp on his neck, and he’s so warm all wrapped around Steve like this, hair tickling his cheek and his chin. He wants Billy like this always.

‘Gotta get up, Stevie.’

Steve nods. ‘Yeah. I know.’

He turns his head real quick, too quick, plants a kiss on Billy’s temple and then stumbles up.

He gives Billy his hand, braces himself on the porch railing so Billy can pull himself up without pulling him back down. Billy stumbles a little, ends up caging Steve in against the railing. Puts his hand on Steve’s waist and looks at him in a way that makes Steve even fucking warmer.

‘We’re so fuckin’ drunk,’ Billy says, slurring a little. Billy only slurs when he’s almost too drunk to stand. 

Steve grins. ‘Who’s gonna throw up first?’

‘You, bitch. Obviously.’

Steve wants to shove him because it would be rude and unfair, Billy’s too drunk not to fall over and it would be funny, but then Billy wouldn’t be _ here _, in Steve’s space again.

‘Nope. You.’

Billy rolls his eyes, sways with it. Frowns, pressing his lips together. ‘It’s always you.’

‘Not tonight,’ Steve says, winds his arm around Billy’s waist. ‘Think we can get down those stairs?’

Billy nods. ‘Think we gotta.’

Steve throws up first. Ducks outta Billy’s arms two blocks from home and heaves tequila into the gutter, hears Billy say ‘oh thank god,’ over the sick sound of it, then sees Billy out of the corner of his eye, hunched over.

Steve finishes first too. Pulls Billy’s hair back for him. He’s nice like that, even though Billy made him lose their fake little bet.

Billy spits into the fucking mess in the street, straightens up. Waggles his eyebrows at Steve as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are watery. ‘Wanna make out?’

Steve laughs. Fucking loses it. 

Cause like. Yeah. He kinda _ does_.

So he like. Does. Gets his fist in Billy’s collar and smashes their mouths together gracelessly and kisses him. 

Billy, true to form, licks into his mouth. Shameless. 

When they break apart, Billy grins at him.

‘Gross,’ he says, like he’s real pleased about it.

‘Disgusting,’ Steve agrees.

Billy laughs, throws his arm around Steve’s shoulders, and steers them stumbling toward home.

**Author's Note:**

> look i don't fucking know anymore alright, this thing has gone wildly off the rails. no one's steering anymore. i really thought they were gonna fuck in this one, yall. i really really did.
> 
> additionally, in an entirely unintentional and frankly serendipitous twist of fate, the pre-planned title of this fic ended up like. fucking eerily appropriate. love that for me.
> 
> come yell at me about it on [tumblr](https://un-buttoned.tumblr.com/).


End file.
